I WILL GIVE YOU SOME WORDS. golden trio era

0. THE LETTER

{ PROLOGUE }

SIRIUS'S MOTHER HATED THE CONCEPT OF IRONY.

Walburga Black, the twisted hag, wanted everything in her life to go smoothly and precisely without even the prospect of a coincidence. If someone dared to speak of something opposing, she would whack sense into them quicker than a snake striking—whether physically or with words as harsh as her hand.

"Bet you'll be rolling in your grave now, eh, Mother?" said Sirius grimly. He stared up at the worn-down building that was Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Oh yes. This was irony at its finest; the very place that could be his only sanctuary was the place he never wanted to see again in his entire life.

"Come on," said Remus Lupin from beside him. "Stop talking to yourself, and get inside. This wind's biting!"

He pulled his coat tighter around himself the best he could while holding two bags in one hand. Sirius spared a moment to give his closest friend an amused look before extending his hand out and thinking hard. Not a second later, a battered door appeared as though he had wished it to existence which he, naturally, had. Being a Black had its perks if you wanted to look at it in that way. Sirius didn't, and merely opened the door and stepped inside.

Immediately a cloud of dust burst in front. He coughed and waved it away, his eyes watering. The interior was just as gloomy and desolate as the last time he had been here; which was decades ago, so that was saying something about the decor his mother had indulged in. The dampness in the air was stifling and he could smell a sweetish, rotting smell.

"Home sweet home," he spread his arms and turned to Remus who taken off his hat, while looking around. "How do you like the esteemed Black house?"

"Does it always smell this bad?" said Remus mildly. "Like mildew?"

"I wouldn't know," said Sirius indifferently. He turned around and strode down the hallway, calling over his shoulder, "but while I was here, yes it did smell this bad. Probably cause of my dear mother and her command. I always did think she smelled a little funky."

He heard Remus sigh behind. Well, he had to distract himself somehow from the fact that he was back in his childhood home; the very place that made him feel as insignificant as one of those pebbles on the steps he had walked on. This house wasn't helping his confidence, and...oh Merlin, he remembered the old tradition his family partook in; if she was also in this blasted place, he would destroy this entire building brick by brick.

"So," Remus's voice reverberated back in the main room; there was a thump that Sirius assumed was him dropping the suitcases. "What should we do first?"

Sirius reappeared at the doorway, with a sardonic grin and a bottle of whiskey in one hand. "Looks like the old stash hasn't been touched yet, my dear Remmy. What do you say?"

Remus sighed, fighting a losing battle. "Don't call me Remmy," he said half-heartedly, a small smile quirking his lips.

Sirius raised the bottle—already opened and uncorked—invitingly.

Thirty minutes later, the bottle of whiskey was empty, and two grown men were sprawled on the moldy couch of the living room—Sirius bemoaning the agonies of his life currently, as Remus, who had wisely not had much to drink, listened.